


Something More

by undeadgarden



Category: Cookie Run (Video Game)
Genre: Lots of headcanons too, M/M, also everybodys gay, sort of human / modern au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeadgarden/pseuds/undeadgarden
Summary: Abandoned by his band mates and his family, a lone Rockstar learns there's something more to life then waiting for the next concert.( UNFINISHED )





	1. Savior

**Author's Note:**

> well...here it is. i suppose mint/rockstar is a more popular ship around here but i find it uninspired - so what if they're both music based cookies? 
> 
> some of this references the comics, so if you haven't read those before i recommend it - specifically this one https://imgur.com/a/c53Pf
> 
> sorry if there's any mistakes, i wrote the bulk of this between 2-3 am.

It was midnight.

With a bottle of vodka in one hand and a fistful of change in the other, Rockstar stumbled out of the corner store. When he woke up, he was still a rising star, with a stable source of income, and a bunch of loyal bandmates he considered family.

Now, he was just alone, with nothing but the guitar slung around his shoulder and the clothes on his back. Funny how the world works like that, sometimes. 

He wandered around aimlessly, not even paying attention to where his feet took him. With little effort, he spun open the cap of his vodka and took a long drink, wiping what was left around his mouth on his sleeve. He hummed, satisfied, and continued walking.

If he had no place left to go, was he really lost? He got kicked out of his band’s shared apartment, and his parents had completely erased whatever evidence was left of Rockstar being their son. He could only think of one place to go, and that was the bar for another couple drinks. He’d already gotten to the bottom of the bottle.

“Excuse me?”

He paused in his musing. He looked behind, then down at the small figure with a shaking fist clung to the bottom of his shirt. Her face was obscured by the darkness, but Rocky knew exactly who she was.

A fan.

“Aw, you want an autograph?” He cooed, spinning around to meet her eyes. He was introduced to the barrel of a gun instead as she shoved it in his face, pushing him down with her other hand. He fell, the empty bottle of vodka crashing to the ground next to him in an explosion of glass. She moved into the streetlight for a fleeting moment, but Rockstar could make out the bright peppermint bows and cutesy pink dress.

He gulped. It all happened in a second, but he recognized her. It was that deranged fangirl that had been arrested three times for stalking him...and once for illegally downloading his music. 

She loomed over him silently, her shoulders shaking...she was crying. He guessed she found out a certain someone got kicked out of the band. “So...no autograph, then?” Rocky offered, giving her a sheepish grin.

"I don't n-need an autograph from s-someone who isn't even famous anymore..." She sniffed. He heard the telltale chk-chk noise of her cocking the gun as she shakily raised it to the side of his head.

“...I see.” 

Before she could pull the trigger, Rockstar swung blindly, his elbow making contact with her jaw. She hissed in pain, stumbling back for a few seconds, but that was more than enough time for Rockstar to get back on his feet and grab his own weapon. His guitar. He reared up, preparing to club her.

She composed herself, raising the gun again, only to have it smashed out of her hands by his guitar. With an irritated growl, she dove down for the gun and managed to fire before he could prepare to swing again. She missed, the bullet ricocheting somewhere into the alleyway behind them. 

It was at this moment he noticed someone turning the corner in the distance, running towards the gunshot. She noticed too, and Rocky took full advantage of the distraction. With a grunt, he tackled her to the pavement, wrestling with her for control of the gun. “Help - she’s fucking insane!” He shouted over their struggling.

The other person finally caught up to the tussling pair, not hesitating to reach over and snatch the gun right out of her grip. Rockstar managed to pin her down with his guitar. As fast as it started, it was over. With shaky breaths, Rocky finally got a look of his savior. 

He was around the same age as Rockstar, with unnatural green hair - it almost looked like leaves from the way it gathered in the lamplight. From the apron under his arm and the nametag still stuck to his shirt, Rocky could gather he was heading home from a late shift somewhere. It was pure coincidence they had run into each other. With a slight frown on his face, the other man held the gun away from himself as if it was a used tissue.

It was only until their eyes met did Rockstar realize he was staring at him. With a quick glance away, he took a deep breath before talking. “You should probably call the police.” She wasn’t struggling as much underneath Rockstar’s weight, but from past experience he knew she’d dart away when given the chance.

“Oh! Right...sorry…” His voice was apologetic enough, and Rocky sat there blushing as he tried to focus on the girl still trying to squirm free underneath him instead of Leaf Hair’s cute face. _You don’t even know him,_ Rocky told himself scoldingly. _Just because he’s your knight in shining armor doesn’t mean you have to...uh...kiss him, maybe? I don’t want to - I mean, I do, but - Ugghhh, shut up Rocko!_

It took him awhile to realize he was being asked a question. He broke out of his thoughts with a quick shake of his head. “Uhh - sorry, what?” Rocky looked back up at the other man, still flustered. He was putting his phone back in his pocket, presumably having called the cops already.

 _He really does have leaves for hair,_ Rockstar realized, finally getting a proper look at him. He started talking. “Police should be here soon. And uh...I was asking for your name...” 

Rockstar blinked in disbelief. Was he hearing right? “You don’t fucking know who I am?” He sounded almost offended. As if tonight wasn’t bad enough.

He bit his lip nervously. “...No. That’s...why I’m asking...sorry.”

Rocky glared at him. “Name’s Rocko. But most people know me as, oh, I dunno, the world famous Rockstar, lead guitarist in…” He trailed off. Leaf Hair wasn’t even listening to him.

_If I wasn’t restraining this bitch, I would shove this guitar so far up his-_

The police sirens started blaring in the distance. They both glanced at each other.

“I’m...Herb, by the way.” His savior finally said, eyes lingering on Rockstar a moment before shyly darting away towards the street in front of them. 

Rocky felt his heart skip a beat. _What was that?_

He was probably overthinking it. As the police cars drove up to the curb, Rocky looked at him with a smile. “Well...Thank you for saving me, Herb.”

The police questioned them briefly, already recognizing Rockstar and the girl from previous arrests. Herb left for home after that. As he watched his attacker get handcuffed on the hood of a cop car, the scowl on her face almost permanent, he wondered if this was coincidence or maybe something more.


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before this chapter starts, i've given every cookie an actual name...this is why the "kind of human AU" tag is there 
> 
> thats why hero is also referred to as nate and rockstar as rocko - i feel like 'hero' is just a little nickname rocky came up with as nate is obsessed with superheroes. (his favorite is obviously superman)

There was one place Rockstar knew he could stay, fortunately. It had been a few years on the road since he’d last talked to Hero, one of his oldest and most cherished friends...If he could even call him that.

It wasn’t like they’d lost contact or anything. They kept in touch during tours and Rockstar had sent him tickets constantly, but Hero had never shown up to a concert. It was one excuse after another. Sometimes he wouldn’t even get an explanation.

Rocky didn’t blame him. Hero was a bigger fan of cutesy anime girls singing then rock and roll. But it still bothered him. It lingered in the back of his mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch. He’d stayed up long nights wondering what went wrong sometimes.

So Rockstar found himself in an apartment building at almost 3 am, hesitantly knocking on a door. _I don’t even know if he still lives here._ He thought, biting his lip in thought. This _was_ his apartment, right?

Before he could spiral any further, the door swung open. There Hero stood, squinting at Rocky without his glasses, his short, curly hair sticking up everywhere. At first he looked pissed, but then it dawned on him who exactly was standing in the doorway. 

“...Rocko?” 

His face split into a grin. Without hesitation he threw Rocky into a warm, crushing hug. He was shorter than Rocky, but he still managed to lift him a few inches up off of the ground in his excitement. Rockstar returned the hug the best he could.

“Jesus, Nate, I need to breathe.” He pried Hero off of him with some effort. Sure, Hero was chubby and looked like the stereotypical nerd, but he could (and had already) kicked Rockstar’s ass. (Twice.) 

Nate stood there for a moment, still smiling, before shoving Rocky into his apartment. 

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess.” He mumbled, reaching for the lights.

It was almost like walking back into a memory. Hero hadn’t changed much since Rocky had moved out. Everything was an organized mess, with wires and various test tubes and glasses scattered across the floor. The fish tank full of blue rocks and guppies was still precariously sitting on top of an old, rickety looking wooden table. There were even the same posters from various shows and games taped to every empty wall. Rockstar recognized the spot where he’d taken his Yugioh poster down when he moved in with his bandmates.

“I’m glad you’re back, but, knowing me, I have some questions.” Nate was saying, locking the door behind him. He gestured for Rocky to sit on the plush brown leather sofa. He happily obliged, flopping down with a sigh. 

“Normal questions or nerd questions?” Rocky asked, kicking his shoes off. It felt like he had just come home after a long vacation.

“Both.” Hero frowned, sitting in the armchair across from him. “First question. Why are you here at three in the morning?”

“I knew you weren’t sleeping yet.” He smiled in response, propping his feet up on the coffee table. _I’ve known Hero since...what was it, fifth grade? I don’t think he’s had a consistent sleeping schedule since._

Hero opened his mouth to argue, but he knew it was pointless. “Well, you aren’t wrong. Question two - what the fuck happened? No offense, you look like shit. And I know you only drink vodka when you’re sad, you absolutely reek of it.” 

Rocky recoiled. He wasn’t expecting _that_. How could he tell Hero he almost died hours ago? 

Hero didn’t stay for the answer, getting back up and stepping into the kitchen. Rockstar knew without words he was anticipating a long, concise explanation of why he was so upset.

_Of course he knows. He knows fucking everything. He’s probably calculating exactly what I’m going to say and the probability of when I’m going to say it. Fucking nerd._

Maybe he should just start from the beginning. He waited until he heard the cabinet drawers opening before he answered.

“I got kicked out of the band.”

He heard a metal pot clang on the kitchen tile as Hero dropped it in surprise. “You _what?_ Those assholes-”

Rocky cut him off. “Well, I didn’t get kicked out. I was just, you know, pleasantly asked to leave.” He played with a loose string on one of the couch cushions, fuming silently. 

_I didn’t have a fucking choice, and they knew it._

Thinking about it made Rocky angrier, so he stopped. Hero didn’t speak again until he presumably cleaned up whatever mess he had just made. 

“Well. I suppose you’ll be needing a place to stay again, right?” The faucet sprung to life behind Rockstar as Hero filled up the pot with water.

“I guess. I wasn’t here to ask for that, though.” He suddenly became aware of the beaten up guitar on his back, and swung it around his shoulders until the familiar red and white peppermint stripes were sitting in his lap. “My guitar got fucked, and I was wondering if you could fix it…”

One of the strings had snapped and there was large dent in the body, followed by a crack that led all the way up to the base of the neck. It looked like it had almost split in half. Rockstar guessed a certain collision with a murderous fangirl’s skull was to blame. 

“You showed up on my doorstep for the first time in years so I could...fix your guitar?” Nate sounded hurt as he turned the stove on. “For a second there I thought you missed me.”

“I did miss you.” Rockstar said without thinking, voice cracking with emotion. “Fuck off, you know I did. I’ve sent you millions of tickets.”

Hero was silent again until the water had come to a boil. “You know the academy’s got me by the throat with all of these damn deadlines. I...I always wanted to see you, really. I’m sorry, Rocky.”

Rocky said nothing, wallowing in self-hatred. _What kind of a friend am I?_ He expected Nate to have at least a little resentment towards him for just straight walking out of his life, but he never thought about the reaction he’d get if he walked back in the same way. It was selfish of him. 

He didn’t notice Nate had slid a bowl of ramen into his hands until the heat burned his fingertips. 

“I made you ramen. The way you like it.” He mumbled, leaning back into the couch right next to him. “Now...let me get a look at that guitar of yours.”

Despite everything, Nate still cared about him.

Rockstar smiled.


	3. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suppose it was time to check up on herb, huh?
> 
> i get the distinct feeling people aren't going to like this interpretation of herb, and that's fair. i wanted something different then the almost stereotypical shy uwu bean herb that everybody likes to portray.
> 
> (also, spot the TAZ reference)

Herb hated waking up.

He hated the sound of his alarm going off at 5:30 am. He hated waiting for his fucking neighbor to finish using the hot water so he could shower. He hated how long it took for his stupid leaves to dry off.

Most of all, he hated his job.

He worked at some cafe in between his college classes. Herbology was his dream profession, and he did enjoy his classes, but those textbooks weren’t cheap. So he took the job. It wasn’t too demanding. Mornings were usually the busiest, with afternoons full and nights pretty sparse.

He’d memorized most of the usual customer lineup. People going to work, to school, sometimes the occasional mom grabbing a cup before going grocery shopping. People liked him for the polite and friendly demeanor he generally had. He’d had many regulars describe him as inviting as the shop’s cozy plush chairs or the relaxed jazz that played on loop.

If only that was the truth.

It was boring. It became so soul-numbingly irritating to have to say “have a nice day” some sixty times a day to people who generally didn’t care. It was rare to even get a “hello” from a customer at times. And his annoying, sloppy coworkers made it even worse. It was almost a miracle Herb hadn’t just burned the whole place down yet.

He sat on the train, pretending to read the advertisements as he compleplated this, just like every other morning. There was one thing he could fortunately let his mind wander to, though. Rockstar.

It was just a fluke he had been late closing up that night after some asshole left their coffee perfectly positioned so it leaked everywhere when Herb tried to take out the garbage. He had stepped out onto that pleasant summer night to the sound of crackheads screaming or something. The usual for this neighborhood.

Until he recognized the distinct shape of that guitar. He had bought a couple of albums from that band, but the self titled Rockstar had to be his favorite. He was a little full of himself, but talented enough to warrant it. His solos were amazing when you listened to them on full blast when you had to clean the bathroom again. 

Some impulse had made him run over to help. It could have been any asshole with a guitar like that, but Herb threw all reason out of the window that night. And it had been replaying in his mind ever since. 

There was at least one fun thing about the monotony of his job – he could make his own coffee, just the way he liked it, every morning. Three creams, two sugars, a little bit of milk.

He ignored Cherry Blossom when she said good morning to him when he entered, pretending he was still taking his earbuds out. God, he despised her. If he hated the world too much, she loved it more than anything. It wasn’t uncommon for her to start singing while she worked, or for her to text Herb drunk at 3 am looking for some attention. 

She embodied everything Herb couldn’t stand about the world – the consumerism, the fake egos and materialism constructed around a society destined to fail. Herb swore to himself next time she’d show him the expensive purse she just got, or her new phone case, or the cute pair of heels she found online last week, he would spill an entire pot of boiling hot coffee on her. (He’d always forget, though.)

He adjusted the nametag on his uniform. “Alex, when do you get off today?” He heard her ask from behind him, punctuated by the sound of her rinsing a cup.

“Uhh...I dunno. I think 5?” Alex answered. The fake unsure tone took over his voice almost instantly. It was easier to pretend to be shy so he didn’t have to make small talk all the time. “I have to study though, so…” She pretended as well, acting like she was touching up her lipstick when really her brows were furrowed in frustration. 

He knew she would ask to hang out. She always did on Friday morning. It was just routine, something Herb was well acquainted with. There were always the benefits of it. It let him always play two steps ahead of everybody around him.

So at exactly 7:46 am, when Herb took that first sip of his perfectly crafted coffee, he wasn’t planning to see the same white-haired Rockstar he’d been thinking about step into the cafe. 

He choked.

There was another man trailing behind him, with glasses and a plaid button-up. He looked vaguely familiar. Alex guessed he’d passed him a lot on campus. He seemed like the stereotypical nerd, and it was surprising to see Rockstar turn around and talk to him, as if he was a close friend.

“Are you okay?” Cherry asked, looking up from the drink she was making.

“Yeah, uh...Just a little too hot, hoo hoo.” He chuckled nervously, setting the coffee down so he could almost run to the register. Rockstar looked at his friend behind him for a moment, presumably listening to his order, and then headed to the front while his friend grabbed a table.

Herb couldn’t believe his eyes. He was so...close. _Man, his eyelashes are long._ Rockstar relayed the order somewhat sleepily, not quite looking at Herb until the other man cleared his throat.

“Oh...Oh? Its you, again.” Rockstar looked at him with those gentle blue eyes, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He looked almost relieved.

“U-uh, yeah.” Was all that Herb could manage to squeak out. He shakily handed Rockstar his change, feeling his cheeks warm up. _Why can’t I just–_

Rockstar suddenly grabbed his hand, interrupting Herb’s thoughts. With a sudden intensity, their eyes met again.

“Hey. I didn’t really say it a few days ago, but...thanks a lot, for saving my life, and everything.”

He was so close now Herb could make out every single misplaced white strand of hair on his head. He glanced away for a moment. “It-It was no problem, anyone would–” He started.

Rockstar cut him off, a hint of anger in his voice. “No. You could have just kept walking, but you didn’t.”

Before they could continue, Cherry suddenly leaned over the counter and offered Rockstar his drinks. Rockstar let his eyes linger on Herb for another second before letting go of his hand and grabbing the two cups. 

With that, he headed back to his friend. Alex didn’t move until the next customer stepped up to the register.

The rest of the time Rockstar was there passed in a similar manner. He didn’t acknowledge Herb when he passed by to hand other customers their drinks. Rockstar and his friend were deep in conversation about something involving a balance bureau and static. Herb just watched them curiously while taking orders.

He’d cleaned up their table after they’d left, finding a number scribbled hastily onto the back of a napkin next to a generous tip.

It made him hesitate for a moment. Despite the draining routine he’d have to deal with for the rest of the workday, it had only taken one small coincidence for everything to change for Herb. The world had told him there was something more.


	4. Sent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy halloween! here's another chapter.
> 
> sorry for taking so long, but you'll see - this chapter is MUCH longer then what i usually write. i wanted to give the gays what they deserved.
> 
> a little warning for references to drugs (specifically weed) at the very beginning of this chapter!

It had been a week since Rockstar had given his number to Herb.

All they did since then was chat a little bit about what happened that night, exchange some of the generic “how have you been” messages, all until Herb left him on read. It wasn’t like Rocky cared, though.

 

Well, maybe he did a _little_ bit.

He’d done nothing but get high and cry since. It was like he’d held the answer to everything in his grasp for mere seconds until it slipped away, leaving him with an empty heart and a desire to be the furthest from sober as possible.

Hero had enough of Rock laying around feeling sorry for himself and made him get a job. He knew a guy who knew a guy who needed someone to fill in for the graveyard shifts at Wendy’s. Fucking Wendy’s. Rockstar didn’t really care where he worked as long as it meant Hero would shut up sometimes.

The only thing Rockstar could do was blast through the rest of his weed before responsibility plucked him up by the collar and threw him back into the real world. He was sitting on the floor of Hero’s bathroom, shakily trying to light a bowl packed with weed over the toilet. 

“Fuck, come on…” He mumbled. He probably grabbed the wrong lighter, but he had no time to mull over it. Hero would be coming back from running errands at any second, and Rocky knew he’d get his ass kicked if there was any evidence he’d been smoking at all.

With a flick, the lighter finally lit, illuminating the weed in the bowl and turning the small green shreds into bright embers. Rockstar sighed in relief, preparing to inhale when his phone suddenly vibrated by his feet. With a yelp, Rocky dropped the bowl into the toilet with a sizzle. 

“ … Motherfucker.” He mumbled, reaching into the toilet with a groan. Whatever weed was left unburnt floated lazily on the surface of the water. _Great. I bet it was Nate asking about—_

Rockstar froze, staring at his phone screen in disbelief. The text he got wasn’t from Hero. It was from _Herb._

 **alex ♥**  
Hey

He smiled to himself, setting his phone back down. He couldn’t respond right away, of course. That would just make him look desperate. Instead, he cleaned up his mess, grabbing a random washcloth to dry off his bowl. Hero wouldn’t mind, right?

As Rockstar left the bathroom, he heard Hero’s keys jingle in the doorknob. _Perfect timing._

“Hey, Rock— oh. Hey … Rockstar.” Hero frowned. He set down whatever grocery bags he was carrying, staring at the lighter still in his grasp. “Were you—”

Rocky didn’t want to hear it. He grabbed Hero’s hands, pulling him the rest of the way into the apartment. “Yeah, yeah, I was about to smoke, whatever. There’s more important shit to talk about right now.”

Hero glared. “What’s so important that it takes precedence over this right now, Rocky?” 

Again, Hero was ignored as Rocky shoved his phone in his face. “Look!” He exclaimed, waving it in front of him.

“I didn’t know your lock screen was me and you. Is that all you wanted to show me?” Hero snarked as Rockstar rolled his eyes.

“Shut up.” Rockstar unlocked his phone, scrolling to the new text from Herb. As he handed it to Hero, his phone vibrated again.

 **alex ♥**  
You doing anything tonight?

“Oh _shit._ ” Hero mumbled, closing the door behind him. “Hasn’t he gone silent for like, a week?”

“I know!” He squealed, flopping on the couch. Hero sat down next to him, phone in hand. 

“Now … What do I say back?”

-

Herb stared at the two messages he sent one last time before tossing his phone onto the bed next to him. 

“I’m a fucking idiot.” He groaned. It was true — he hadn’t talked to Rockstar in a week, and he probably ruined whatever relationship they could have had. 

Truth was, he’d been too nervous to say anything past generic conversation. Part of it was his own problem with breaking the front he maintained, the other part was … well, Herb was pretty fucking boring.

Rockstar probably had millions of exciting adventures on the road and meeting with fans. He was famous, for fucks sake. Past his job, Herb barely talked to anybody or went out on weekends. The only exciting thing about him was getting snake bites two months ago and maybe his plants. 

_Speaking of plants_ … He rolled over to face the familiar potted plant that sat on the dresser next to his be. It held the leafy green succulent that was his very first plant (and possibly only friend). 

Sure, it made sense Herb took care of plants. He kind of was one, maybe? He didn’t like to dwell on it lest the existential crisis take over. 

He loved and took care of all of the various succulents and flowers around his dorm. Something something good for your mental health. His first one was always his favorite, though — he even named it. 

“Do you think I have another chance, Michael? Or is it too late?” He asked the plant. He waited for it to respond, but Michael was, unfortunately, a plant. He rolled over again with another groan. 

“I’m actually going fucking insane. I’m talking to my _plant_ .” Herb put his head in his hands, defeated. He’d have to quit his job, change his name, and move to a different county out of sheer embarrassment from his own stupidity. 

Or … maybe he could fake a horrible accident that led to a coma to explain his absence. Yes, a coma. That sounded perfect. Where would he get the bandages and the hospital gown, though?

Herb’s phone went off next to him, cutting off his woeful musing. 

“Oh fuck.” He mumbled, sitting up to check. It was from Rockstar. “Oh _fuck_ .” 

**rocky**  
nah, not doing shit

 **rocky**  
why?

Herb froze. He didn’t think he’d get this far.

He turned to Michael. “What now?”

-

“Now, he’s going to tell you what he’s planning to do. It looks like a dick appointment, Rocky, I gotta be honest.”

Hero was perched above the flustered Rockstar, acting as his guide slash moral support. Mostly, he was taking the opportunity to mess with him.

Rockstar elbowed Hero in the side, his cheeks tinted pink. “C-can you not say it like that? Maybe he wants to go get dinner, or a movie, something that isn’t … _that_ .”

“Nah, just look at the evidence. He’s probably lonely, misses you, even. He’s looking for some fast food, In-N-Out, animal style—” Hero gestured with his hands. Rocky pushed him away, face now bright red.

“Oh my god, shut up!” He protested, inching away from the smirking Hero towards one end of the couch. His phone buzzed again.

 **alex ♥**  
I was wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink or two?

 **alex ♥**  
My friend owns a bar, he’ll give us discounts.

Rockstar perked up at that. “Ooh. He’s asking if I wanna go drinking.”

“Huh. I didn’t take him as someone who drank.” Hero said, leaning away.

“Well, he is a college student.” Rockstar started typing a response. “They don’t have anything else to do on weekends.”

“Except get some dick.” Hero muttered. Rockstar finally reached over and smacked him.

-

 **rocky**  
sounds good

 **rocky**  
whats the address?

Herb was now curled up with his plant, nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“I mean, I could ask to meet up before … Would that be weird, though?” It wasn’t an impolite gesture. Herb just couldn’t imagine Rockstar being anywhere near him, though.

He finally groaned. pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. _What’s the point? I’ve already gotten this far, fuck it._

“You know what my physics teacher from junior high always said?” Herb started, looking at Michael the plant. “He told me, ‘Herb, the only worst case scenario is dying.’ Then he’d perform some dangerous experiment in front of 30 something children.”

Michael stayed silent. _Still a plant, Alex._

“Anyways, he’s right. The only worst case scenario that could come out of tonight is if I die. Or Rockstar dies. Maybe we both die. Whatever happens, I’m kicking myself in the ass right now dragging this out any further.”

 **alex ♥**  
Here’s the place: [ ]

 **alex ♥**  
Can I meet you before, or do you want to surprise me?

“There! Now, I wait to die.” Herb deadpanned, hitting send.

-

“Rocky, what the fuck happened to this towel?” Hero said from the bathroom, stepping into the door frame with the object in question. The towel was soaking wet, stained with black ash, and reeking of weed.

“Uh … I had an accident.” Rockstar mumbled. “Hey, he’s flirting with me.”

“Is he any good at it?” Hero started, with genuine interest. He blinked, realizing what had just happened, and then his face fell. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

 **rocky**  
and miss an opportunity to talk to you more?

 **rocky**  
yeah right. where and when?

“He’s okay. I’m just way better.” Rockstar smirked, leaning over to dodge the gross towel Hero chucked directly at his head.

-

Herb died.

He buried his face into his pillows, but it did little to quiet the pounding of his heart. Only when his cheeks stopped burning hot did he sit back up, glaring at his phone.

“The absolute madman.” He mumbled, grabbing it one last time. Of _course_ Rockstar was good at flirting. He could have invented it, for all Herb knew. “I should have gone with the fucking coma.”

 **alex ♥**  
How does 8 sound?

 **rocky**  
great. no pun intended

 **alex ♥**  
Now, how does my place sound?

 **rocky**  
send your location, leaf head

Herb laughed to himself, but obliged.

 **rocky**  
aight bet

 **rocky**  
i’ll let you know when i’m 5 minutes away

 **alex ♥**  
See you tonight!

Herb sent one last text, finally calmed down. He looked back towards Michael for good measure, the hint of his last giggle still lazily sitting upon his face, then sat up with a gasp.

“What the fuck am I going to _wear_ ?”

\- 

Rockstar hummed to himself happily as he threw the dirtied rag into the washing machine. It joined assorted white socks, underwear, and other towels, before he closed the lid and sealed it’s fate.

“You’re just too good to be true … can’t take my eyes off of you … ” He sang over the hum of the machine, and turned his attention to the dryer. A warm, fluffy robe was pulled out from the mass of clean clothes. Rocky hugged it towards himself, smiling as his mind brought up the image of a particular barista.

And then, he burst into song. 

“I love you, baby! And if it's quite aaalright, I need you, baby! To warm a lonely night … “

Hero watched him flounce around the laundry room with the robe in hand, dancing with unrestrained glee. 

He couldn’t help but share a smile — it had been a long time since he’d seen Rockstar this happy, or even singing for that matter. He’d left the job application on the table, buried under groceries he had when he came in earlier, but it wasn’t important now.

What was more important was this picturesque moment. Hero had watched his best friend hit absolute rock bottom. Even if he didn’t talk about the specifics, he’d known Rocky long enough to know he was hurting, bad. 

It was reassuring to see him spring right back up with more energy than before … even if it took the form of him swinging his hips to 60’s love songs in his laundry room. To Hero, it was just solid evidence that there was always something more.


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i figured there should have been a break between last chapter and the next ... think of it as the appetizer to a meal?
> 
> happy early turkey day!

Scratch scratch scratch.

Princess sat, huddled up against the clean white wall of her hospital room. She had crawled out of bed hours ago, opting to move the three chairs in her room against the door as silently as possible. 

She knew it wouldn’t stop anybody from coming in, perhaps only for a few seconds if need be. That gave her enough time to lock herself in the bathroom if worst came to worst.

Scratch scratch. 

Her hair was down, falling around her shoulders in waves of pink. Gone were the pretty striped bows in her hair, confiscated along with the cutesy pink dress she had worn out that fateful night. They had even taken her crown.

Scccratch. Sckkkratch.

There was one thing she kept, however. It was a small, gray guitar pick, with two and a half teeth marks from someone absentmindedly gnawing on it. It was originally in her other hand, the hand that wasn’t clenching the trigger of her pistol.

Scratch scratch. 

She hadn’t fought with the officers. She let them handcuff her, read her the rights like she’d seen on television. She let them take her to the hospital to clean up the remnants of paint and blood from her head where she was struck with a guitar twice.

Scratch scratch scratch.

Princess vaguely remembered seeing her blurry reflection in the back of the cop car, her tear-stained face sprinkled with red and white like a smashed peppermint candy. She smiled politely, as if making eye contact with a stranger. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. 

Sckkkratch scratch scratch. 

This time they dumped her in some sort of rehab program. Something something mentally unstable. As long as she cooperated with the medical professionals that tried to pry her brain open, nothing really happened.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. 

On the side of the wall next to Princess, one of her hands was scratching at the wall with the pick in question, making jagged shapes that resembled letters. 

Sckkratch. Scratch scratch. 

It had taken her a while, but she had finally made peace with the white haired owner of the guitar pick. Her obsession and dependability on an idol had become her increasingly destructive survival tool. When that fragile string finally snapped, her whole world had come plummeting with it.

At least, that was what the therapist said. 

Her hands were shaking. Fucking withdrawals. With one final hug of her knees, she managed to gouge out the last line. 

The moonlight drifting in from behind the shades of her window was just enough to illuminate her work. She had carved ‘PRINCESS’ into the wall behind her, the white paint chipping away to reveal the sharp, uneven letters.

Princess smiled. This time, her eyes squinted in pure joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (as of 3/27) 
> 
> Definitely lost motivation for this fic - feel free to write your own interpretations of the date and the "ending?" I think this works as an ending, regardless.  
> I had big plans, unfortunately I'm no longer interested in Cookie Run! :'D Thank you for reading, and all of the kind comments!


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